


*Whistling*

by IantoPace



Series: Should I Have Run? [1]
Category: Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: Attempted rape (barely delved into), Coffee Shops, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, F/M, M/M, Modesty, Punching, Saving, Tags and rating will be added to and changed, courtesy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-05 03:09:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4163406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IantoPace/pseuds/IantoPace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Filling a prompt and adding to it: You saw someone putting something in my drink.</p><p>I own nothing of Penny Dreadful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	*Whistling*

Dorian would gladly return to bartending after only five days at this fucking hot drink shop. He has counted every time he was reprimanded for giving a customer what they requested, or finishing an order before cleaning up that  _minor_ spill. Everyone there was so infuriating and the gun in his waistline would have been so very helpful if Twan hadn’t forced him to stop bringing it.

 

There was a customer -one **fucking** customer- who was the highlight of his time here. She, the beauty he had come to call Angel, as that was what she told him to write after he asked her how to spell her name, has only come in once. **One. Fucking. Time.**

 

He’s valiantly attempted to remember her… her everything, simply to function through the four days following her visit. A few thoughts have gone through his head of ways to keep in contact with her if she was ever to come by again. A small piece of paper with his elegantly written phone number still waited in his pocket for the small chance that he will serve her again and think that giving her his number was a good idea.

 

Apparently he need not call on his memory any longer, as the bell on the door clinged, drawing his attention directly to Angel.

 

Her appearance had not largely changed, which was unfortunate. Her eyes were still directed to the ground, yet a cut just above her left eyebrow was blatantly present, as well as a faded bruise over her cheekbone, and she hadn’t worn such long sleeves last time, definitely shouldn’t today as it was 22 degrees. Perhaps giving her his number would provoke issues if she walked out with it and whoever gave her those marks noticed the paper.

 

Maybe winking would encourage her to notice it first… a very sound plan, of course.

 

She had approached the counter during his evaluations and tilted her head up ever so slightly to speak to him.

 

He nodded, put together her drink with “Angel” on it again, and caught her focus for a mere moment to wink at her, the note having been slipped into the holder around the middle of the ice coffee cup. She seemed to hesitate before turning to sit down at a table against the wall.

 

The note, fortunately ending up under her index finger, was quickly noticed. She spread the small sheet between the thumb and index finger of each hand, and Dorian, for once glad that there were several other workers there and could pay rapt attention to a certain beauty, swore that one end of her full, bold lips twitched up before she hastily folded the note and attempted to stuff it away; However, it drifted from her hands and landed a few paces away from her seat.

 

In the incredibly focused seconds, neither primary brunettes had taken notice of the few looks ‘Angel’ had received from two rather brute-ish men at the table behind her. As she left the chair to reclaim the paper -quite a relief for Dorian that she hadn’t left it to litter there- one of the blokes notched his head at the one farther from ‘Angel’’s seat, and the latter nodded and slipped from his chair, unnecessarily quickly making his way to the paper before ‘Angel’ and picking it up between two fingers, an act far too self-assured for Dorian’s liking, and held it up for ‘Angel’, a smirk further annoying the man watching from behind the counter.

 

Aside from the infuriating snarkiness he knew would come from the man on the floor, Dorian caught the movement from the bloke’s companion. He had just turned his upper body, reached over to the temporarily abandoned ice coffee, and removed the lid from the cup, opening a small packet that looked like sugar, if not for the lack of any writing, with his teeth and other hand, and emptied the powdery contents into the liquid, proceeding to encourage dissolution with his own grimy -as Dorian believed- finger. He then secured the lid back onto the cup.

 

Through a haze of anger at what they must be doing, the ease and efficiency he did it with, somehow not being noticed by the damn idiots around the shop, added to Dorian’s rage.

 

‘Angel’ accepted the paper from the man without noticeable reaction and returned to her seat, successfully placing the paper in her pocket this time. She was followed, though, by the arse who had intercepted her on the floor while his friend took his leave of the building.

 

‘Angel’ kept her eyes down, but the man started talking in a hushed voice from the seat he had taken at her table, and continued speaking to her. Dorian kept himself from jumping out there the moment she raised her drink to her lips; he could keep an eye on her form there.

 

The one thing his workmates had been successful at was being overly joyful gits who took too much interest in his personal life and been rambling about setting him up with “that one who stopped by more frequently to find that he wasn’t working.” None of them said anything about him leaving control of the register to watch her, he didn’t favor the whispers about him, though. At least he had plenty of time to make sure the arsehole didn’t take advantage of ‘Angel’.

 

About four minutes passed of the nameless man continuing to pester a silent listener. Said listener had started swaying, small rocks as her head began lowering in tire and nodding back up several times, attempting to keep her eyes open. Each time her head nodded back up, Dorian caught a clear sight of her eyes, and she looks frighteningly worried, and Dorian was itching to jump the fucking counter.

 

He let another minutes pass, a few more seconds, then the arsehole reached out a hand as ‘Angel’’s head again leaned to the side to doze off. As he did this, Dorian pushed out the mini door that closed off the counter, and walked up to their table as the man was cupping her head with his hand.

 

She shortly woke up as the following actions removed the hand that held her head up.

 

Dorian tapped the man’s shoulder and promptly requested, “Sir, would you please stand up.” When he reluctantly stood with a provoking smirk at his presumption of the situation, Dorian had a hand on his shoulder and his fist smacking against his temple.

 

The few gasps while the man hit the table and was knocked out didn’t bother him, nor did the collective gazes of the other occupants. Although he did turn to his colleagues, say “He drugged her, idiots, I’ll keep her safe and be back tomorrow,” and bent down to briefly, reassuringly rub her back with a hand before moving to bring her body into his arms.

 

“Wait, do you know her?” The young woman behind the counter asked accusingly. It was quite entertaining that they so easily decided to stop trusting him from fully encouraging their possible relationship. Caution was understandable, but a waste of his time at the moment.

 

“Yes,” He lied. “Same hometown.” Lying was so very easy when the liar barely shares anything of themself.

 

Another of the workers asked, “Should we call an ambulance?”

 

“He might wake up soon, but if you’d like help moving him, by all means.” Dorian didn’t care to wait longer. ‘Angel’ was still attempting to stay awake, her arms weakly holding each other around his neck and her eyes closing for increasing durations. He took fast strides out of the store, thankful for the push-from-inside door that he had questioned days prior, and walked to his temporary home, which the legal owners allowed him to stay in, being old acquaintances, while they visited Paris.

 

‘Angel’ was entirely asleep roughly three minutes into their seven minute walk to his current residence. She was fighting, clearly, and he gave little care towards her blatantly not-physically-female body that only a fool would give a damn about. He instead made short inventory of what he remembered was kept in the house, anything to ease her bruises and wounds.

 

Door unlocked, of course, as it welcomes intruders inside, where… certain following events would result in severe damage. So he carefully stepped through the atrium after closing the door behind him and made his way upstairs to the guest room he had been sleeping in. Her wounds would have to be dealt with in the morning, all doubt present in the possibility that she would wake before him and sneak out, or attempt to, considering the aforementioned condition.

 

He eased her onto his mattress and briefly left to bring back clean sheets and draped them over her. He decided to leave her dressed as she is, and he left her makeup as it was in order to refrain from jostling her while she slept. Though that might prove uncomfortable the next morning, no lack of clothing would likely invoke a sense of security, or as much as one might have in her circumstances.

 

He stepped back for only a moment, allowing himself to admire the beauty before him. The vile drugs that caused her presence here dampened the peace of it, but her appearance was unmistakably one of beauty. Her impression was unconventional, an uncommon sight in his experience, but one he greatly appreciated the sudden demonstration of. This woman was one he would cherish if the opportunity would exist..

  
Not one to enjoy discourtesy, including the defiling of modesty with an imposing gaze, Dorian removed his focus from her and left the room, closing the door behind him and walked downstairs and to the living room. There he removed his work apron and the unappealing yet required white shirt, left half bare to lay on the couch and force himself to sleep, casting away all distracting thoughts in order to do so.


End file.
